Road Trip
by At A Venture
Summary: Oneshot. ESN. Sookie and Eric go for a ride in Eric's new car.


_A/N: This was written while listening to the Eric Playlist I posted on my Wiki profile. You should definitely check it out! Isn't it great how music and pretty cars can get you fired up?_

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**Road Trip**

"Are we there yet?"

I turned to look at Eric in the driver's seat. He shook his head. Of course, if we were actually there, the car would've stopped moving. But logic wasn't on my mind right now. I had other fish to fry. Eric and I had been driving down the twisting, turning interstate for almost an hour. It was a warm night in July, and the Viking had decided we were going to test out his new car. I had to admit, the vehicle made me giggle like a school girl when I first saw it. It was black as night, shiny and gorgeous, a 1970 Chevy Camaro Z28 coupe. It had one of those incredibly long hoods and a short rear end. The seats were leather and shiny and smelled like petroleum and animal hide. That sounds gross, but it isn't. They smelled powerful. Hell, the whole car smelled powerful.

I could definitely see why he'd bought it. It really was the perfect car for a tow-headed Viking vampire. Any Viking would have traded his dragon-headed war ship for one of these bad boys.

"Not yet, lover," Eric smiled. He turned to look at me, to wink in my direction, maybe to peruse the outfit I'd chosen for our little venture into the night. I'd gone the bad Sandee route, forgoing a short summer dress for a pair of hopelessly tight clam-digger jeans and a black halter top that brought full attention to the girls. I'd tied my hair up on top of my head to avoid the tousled wind-blown look, but I left a few strands curled around my face. I'd even added a pair of small gold hoop earrings and a gold chain with a little gemstone pendant on the end. I fit right in with my man, and my method of transportation.

But Eric? Oh, he was in fine form tonight. He couldn't possibly have dressed himself.

Pam, because it was always Pam, had handed him the good Levis. Oh, you know what I'm talking about. They're the distressed, dark denim 527 boot-cut jeans that hug all the important parts of the male anatomy. You expect the zipper to fall down at any minute. Or maybe you just hope. I hoped. Lord help me, I was full of hope. On top of the jeans, he'd put on the simplest, sexist shirt worn by man or Viking god, a white ribbed wife-beater. Yeah, I know, the terminology is completely un-PC of me, but it just sounds wrong to say "tank top." This was not a "tank top." This was a feat of engineering. That simple white shirt hugged his sculpted pectorals, was slightly, just slightly loose around his washboard abdomen, and would show off his rippled shoulder blades and quarterback arms when he took off his jacket. But even though I wanted to see his arms and his back (I did! Boy howdy!), I loved the jacket too. It had to be new. I'd never seen it before. It was a well-worn black leather motorcycle jacket with ivory double-bands around the arms. They bulged around his biceps.

I felt a little fainting spell coming on. Hold it together, Sook. You'll be there soon.

Wherever "there" is…

"Do you mind if I put on some music?" That would definitely distract me. I mean, come on, it had to! I couldn't possibly stare at Eric's pelvis for the next however-many miles if I was rocking it out to whatever music Eric enjoyed. It was only right then that I realized Eric's tastes might be about as unusually developed as my ex-lover's. If I had to listen to Tuvan throat-singing, I might be sick right on the shiny leather dash. Not good.

"I don't mind," Eric smiled. He reached across me, brushing my knee with his arm (did my heart just skip a beat?), and popped open the glove compartment. Then he reached inside the small, dark space (okay, heart is definitely not beating now!) and pulled out a small rectangular object and a white wire. These things, he handed to me.

"Wha… you have an iPod?" I blinked and held up a black iPod, the best one on the market. I turned it over in my hands. "You don't even know how to operate your computer!"

"I know how to switch it on and point at Pam," Eric shrugged. "I picked out the songs and she arranged them on the device. You take one end of that cable and you plug it into here," he pointed to a hole in the radio. "Then you plug the other end into the device."

"I can't believe you own an iPod," I blinked, still staring at it in disbelief. I plugged the thing in and turned it on.

"Why is that so surprising?" He raised an eyebrow, but kept his eyes on the road.

"You're a vampire! You've been around since the…the Vikings!"

"I'm driving us in a car, Sookie," he chuckled at me.

"This car was built thirty years ago." I muttered. I plugged in the music player and the screen turned on.

There were only a couple of options. Pam had not added video to the device, just audio. I could either scroll through the list of albums, or I could select the playlist option. I opted for it. There was only one list, and it was named "Eric," appropriately. I clicked it and set the iPod down in the unused ashtray near the stick shift.

Lynard Skynard blasted out over the stereo. Good grief that was loud! I blinked as tears filled up my eyelids. Eric just grinned and tapped his hands on the steering wheel. Obviously he liked this song. Though, duh Sookie, it is his playlist. Obviously he'd like it! Then I watched him mouth the words. Could Eric sing? Did he sing? More importantly, could he sing in key? No idea.

"Cuz I'm as free as a bird now, and this bird you cannot change," I sang, as much in key as I could manage. After all, Lynard Skynard isn't known for their high soprano. The grin on Eric's face widened.

"You're a fan?"

"Every Southerner is a fan of Lynard Skynard," I smiled as if that were common knowledge. I wasn't sure it was exactly true though. My dad had always been a fan. He'd been too young to go to Vietnam, but he still liked to be reminded of that time in his life with the music of the era. Jason and I were raised listening to Bob Seger and Jefferson Airplane and White Album Beatles, the whole nine yards. I loved all of it.

"I went to many of the evening concerts in those days," Eric said thoughtfully, staring out at the road with a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. I tried to imagine Eric at one of those angrier wartime concerts. But where I really saw him was at a crowded Doors concert, hopped up on the acid in some donor's blood.

And admittedly, the image in my head was kinda hot, even if it was sorta disturbing.

"Do you like The Doors?" I asked, lifting up the device to peek through his playlist.

"I saw them four times," Eric replied.

"I'm so jealous!" I giggled. He really just jumped up about four points on my OhGodHe'sHot meter. I didn't think he could possibly get any higher.

Wow, maybe I was a little high.

"Lover, you seem to be sending a great deal of excitement through our bond," Eric chuckled, deviously. I felt my cheeks burn, and I was glad for the darkness. On the other hand, he could see me. At least I couldn't see me. When "Freebird" ended, I changed the song to The Doors, "Break on Through."

"Am I?" I tried to play it off. I was completely innocent.

"You are," he winked.

"It's just Jim," I indicated the radio. "I always had sort of a crush on him."

"You do seem to like your men dead, my dear."

"Is he floating around somewhere, like Bubba?" I asked, perhaps a little too hopeful.

"I have no idea. If he is, you're already spoken for." His expression soured, but only for a moment. He was gloating. The song changed to CCR's "Fortunate Son." It was like the perfect mix of songs for this car.

"It's Jim Morrison!" I squeaked. "You could spare me for one night."

"Could I?" He leered at me, taking his eyes off the road.

I avoided the question. Jim Morrison… I closed my eyes. I opened them again after several minutes of thinking about nothing much at all. The song changed to a Johnny Cash cover of Nine Inch Nails. I know I don't seem like the type, but I kinda love Nine Inch Nails. I think it's all about Trent Reznor being a fox. The dark hair and the rings on his fingers? It's a good look for him, and it completely works for me.

Johnny Cash sorta reminds me of my granddad Stackhouse. Go figure.

"This is beautiful," I whispered, referring to the song. It didn't make me feel randy though, and I wanted that randy feeling back. I went searching through the playlist, and lo and behold, there were Nine Inch Nails songs buried in the playlist, two of them! I looked up at Eric, and formed my own mischievous grin. He didn't see me because he was watching the road.

I changed the song. The music changed to a quiet opening piano and a mysterious whispering beat. I set the player down and ran my fingers along my Viking's thigh. His eyes dropped immediately from the road, and I could feel those dark sapphires burning into the top of my skull. I rolled my shoulders to the deep beat of "Everyday is Exactly the Same" and licked my lips, tickling my fingers up along the inside of his leg to cup the bulge in his Levis.

"Watch the road," I whispered in my sexiest voice. He glanced back up. I flicked the button on his jeans and watched, amazed, as the zipper rolled halfway down. Yep, knew it.

He certainly got excited easily.

I licked my lips again and let a little breath escape between them. I was still rocking against my own seat, matching the drum beat in the music. Did I mention I think Trent is pretty damn hot? It made me hot listening to him. Being beside my Viking was like the icing on my cake.

I pulled the zipper down the rest of the way and slid my hand into his pants, rubbing his groin over the black boxer-briefs underneath. The song ended and changed, and that superb fight song from Kill Bill came on. Perfect, an absolutely perfect interlude between my two favorite NIN songs. I grinned. Eric's hands were tapping on the steering wheel again. I wedged my hand into his boxers and pulled his organ out through that padded hole that must've been built expressly for such a purpose.

I wrapped my fingers around the hilt and placed my mouth over his head. He exhaled a noise, as if he needed to exhale. I stifled a giggle and squirmed farther over the stick shift, pushing more of him into my mouth. It was a struggle with the angle, and of course, Eric is a well-proportioned man. He dropped a hand from the wheel and ran his fingers through my ponytail. I massaged him with my fingers while my mouth worked. I couldn't help but gag a little, but he seemed to enjoy the sensation.

Another song started playing, but it wasn't Nine Inch Nails, not yet. Fiona Apple's "Criminal" came on. I swear, Steve Jobs did a great job with that little hunk of plastic. It seemed perfectly capable of detecting the perfect music for a given situation. I let out a little moan, and my tongue shivered against his skin.

He groaned.

I have a whole new respect for the road trip.

I pulled back and let him shuffle forward on the seat, thrusting into my open mouth, sliding over my tongue. I ran my hand up under his shirt, trailing my fingertip down the white-blond happy trail between his belly button and parts south. He was still moving his hips, forward and back, in time to the music. It was all so extremely, exotically, perfectly good. He gripped the back of my head, but not too hard. I could feel his lust in my veins, throbbing under my skin.

I sat up and crawled across my seat so shimmy across his lap, one leg on either side of his hips. I was wearing jeans and he rubbed against me like a dog's wet nose on my skin. I grinned. My NIN song came on at last. Eric always teased me.

My turn.

"You let me violate you. You let me desecrate you. You let me penetrate you. You let me complicate you." I sang against his throat, rolling my hips against his lap. I licked his throat, then teased his ear lobe with my teeth. The song kept playing, and I could barely control my own seductive desires. I ran a hand down his chest, using my fingernails to scratch him through his shirt. If he breathed, he would have been panting.

He had to keep his eyes on the road over my shoulder. I showed him my hand before I put it between my thighs, cupping myself since he was holding the wheel.

"You get me closer to God," I moaned in his ear.

"Lover," he groaned into my shoulder. His fangs were showing. His blue eyes darkened until they were almost chunks of smoldering coal. His skin seemed to whiten even more than was usual. I sucked on his neck, the bones of his clavicle. I grazed his flesh with my teeth. A ripple of pleasure went through his skin.

"Eric," I whimpered, on purpose, just to rile him up even further. I squirmed my hips against my own hand, and I watched his reaction. He was rigid, and his lips were just barely parted. The song changed to the sultry voice of Nina Simone, singing "Feeling Good." I grinned.

"Are we there yet?" I breathed into his ear.

The tires squealed as we pulled off the road. A cloud of dust rolled up under the wheels. Eric put the car in park, grabbed me by the hips, and yanked the pair of us out of the car. He couldn't get around to the gleaming black hood fast enough, and vampires move pretty damn fast. He tossed me on the hood and unbuttoned my jeans. I grinned up at him. I could hear Nina's voice, dark and beautiful, coming out of the car. And then she was replaced by an old Bush hit I had always liked.

"Eric," I moaned up at him, licking my lips and teeth. He looked down at me with the smokiest, deepest blue eyes I'd ever seen. "Fuck me like an animal."

"My lover," he grinned. He looked like a demon, a hot blond demon, full of mischief. It was amazing. "I thought you'd never ask."


End file.
